Saturday, April 26, 2014

My Momma,Told Me,To never talk,To strangers.As these homeless beggars,Will be asking us for money,But don't give us anything in return.My Momma told me,To keep on hustling,And finding a job.For a maximum minimum wage paid,And that someday,I'm going to become,Filthy rich one day.To always wake up,My siblings early,And also brushingMy teeth daily.My momma,Was also veryYoung andeducated.She was born in Nigeria,Came to AmericaTo raise us like grown up kids,We are today.My Momma told me,To study and work hard,Just to stay focus and pay attention,But also listen on,What she has to say.From oldest to youngest,As the next generationsOf super smart rich kids,We were destine to become to be.

It's Hard To Say Goodbye Poem

It’s hard to say goodbye,To all the friends that you love,They live around the world,Like even Africa or America as well.I hope to see them soon,So our friendship continues to bloom,I hope you’ll stay in touch in tune.In my heart there's always room,I could even begin to start to cry,Because It’s so hard to say goodbye.

My mother raised me,To become a loving & caring son,To take care of my lovely siblings,And the rest of my day is done.My mother raised us,To do better in school,Not to stare into space,Acting like a fool.My mother raised me,To become a healthy teen,She makes food for the children,And asks us all to read.My mother raised me,To become a humble and nice man,If they say something mean to me,I can just keep my mouth shut instead.My mother raised us,To become successful leaders,How did your mother raise you?

I see my vision,As I glare through my television,Hoping that one day,I can become a star,I can make a brighter future,One day I will go far.To be in whoever I want to be in life,So I can strive,In the highest obstacle,And achieve on the highest pedestal.I can embrace,On the right path,One day I will do better in math,I can make a brighter future in my success,In hoping that one day I can become the very best.One day I will go further,I rise to the top of the tallest mountain,I'm never gonna stop as,I reach to the highest bidder.Like Rick Ro$$ say,I want to be "Rich Forever",I want to become a writer,To become a better rhymer,As I reach to the top,Of the tallest skyscraper.

If You Ain't About Your Paper Poem

Edited, Recited, Typed & WrittenByMr. Ryan Ngala & Ms. Wendy NgalaRyan Ngala’s Poems™ | STN® Poetry™RyanNgalasPoemsOfficial.Blogspot.com | STNPoetryOfficial.Blogspot.comVerse 1:If you ain't about your paper,Then honestly,They ain't worth nothing to me,These broke mother fuckers will be,Begging us for a got damn quarter.But they ain't,All about the dollars,At least I find that sh*t,So annoying sometimes.One man once,Came and approach to me,He asked me for,A spare quarter.But what will that be,All worth for and why?,So then I told him, "You know what Na".At least he couldn't used his,Fucking common sense,Just to pick up,Five bottles and go make it,His got damn self.But instead he choose, To have someone else,Like me to do his dirty work,For him,And I'm like,What The Fuck?.So I went about my business,But these broke mother fuckers,Who I can see in my very own eyes,Approach and asked me for some of my own money,At least I find them to be so got damn funny.Will always be hollering, screaming and stressing out,And for what?,But I don't want to draw any attention,To none of these broke mother fuckers.That I see outside on the streets,Asking me for money,When in reality they ain't worth nothing or my time to me,Why do these broke mother fuckers,Want some of what I've have, huh!!!I grind and hustle so hard for the paper,That I make all the time,But if you ain't about your paper,Then you broke jokers need to step aside,No Lie.

Verse 2:If you ain’t about your paper,Then don’t come to me,With your hands,Wide open begging me or us for a quarter.

Because we will be making,Billions, Millions, Trillions Or Thousands of dollars a year,While you broke mother fuckers yourself,Don’t get nothing.

The way that I’m getting money,Is so simple, Fast and easy,Money doesn’t grow on trees.That’s a false statement to me,It’s the fact that,I’m collecting bottles and cans.As I’m hustling for the paper,I will make whatever I have,To make $5 or $10 dollars,And save the change for later.It’s a pretty sweet idea, So once I become, Smart with my money,I should spend it more wisely,Even better.

It was back then,When I was still,In A. Philip Randolph Campus High School,All the girls look so fresh to death.Because they dress,So professional,The type of chick,That everybody,Wanna be their ride or die for,Or wanna holler at them.But It was at that point,On my mind,What I can do,To make a chick.Want to impress,A fly cool dude like me,So I started,Wanting
To write some poetry.Started to sing like Floetry,And In at any moment or an hour later,All the fly ladies and the fellas,From HCZ®'s College Success Office & Employment & Technology Center,Started to watch,My poem performance, Only exclusively
On YouTube.com/RyanNgalasPoems.It was back then,They notice how talented,I really was,From the very beginning.Dem fly rich girls,Who'll be on the cover, Of the New York Times,Or Vogue Magazine, I don't have,To hate on 'em fly rich girls, And that's fine by me.